The Last Mrs. Summers

by Rhys Bowen

  I heard an answering voice and heaved a small sigh of relief as her mother emerged from her bedroom.

  I ran back and found the inspector coming down from the floor above. “Nobody up there,” he began, then smelled the smoke. “What the devil?”

  “She’s setting rooms on fire,” I said “She locked up Mrs. Summers. We’re going to call the fire brigade.”

  “Georgie, are you all right?” Belinda was coming up the stairs toward me.

  “I’m fine. Look after Rose and her mother. I have to call the fire brigade.”

  Servants had begun to appear from various parts of the house. “There’s a fire in the library,” a maid was wailing. “All the books are burning. It’s going up like a torch.”

  “Make sure everyone is safe and accounted for,” Rose said.

  The fire brigade promised to get to us as quickly as possible, but they were a good ten minutes away. The footman started trying to organize a bucket brigade but the store cupboards by the kitchen were on fire and we couldn’t get at the water. Someone ran for an outside hose. But there were too many fires, in too many places. It seemed that wherever we went she was one step ahead of us, knocking over lamps, setting the oil on fire and then disappearing to the next location. We could hear crackling and roaring as the fire took hold. Eventually we all had to retreat outside and wait for the fire brigade to arrive. The servants were huddled together weeping. The outside staff had joined the footman and were trying to be useful but with little success. Two fire engines finally came, one of them a tanker of water, and firemen started to spray their hoses, but it was clearly too little, too late.

  “I’d just like to know where the damned woman is,” DI Watt growled. “I’ve got someone guarding the back of the house. She hasn’t emerged yet. She’ll be burned to a crisp if she doesn’t come out soon.”

  “That’s probably what she wants,” Rose said. “To go down in a blaze of glory.”

  “Save us the expense of a trial, I suppose,” the inspector muttered.

  “Where was her room, Rose?” I asked.

  “I don’t really know. I didn’t pry much into where the servants slept. She always took care of that side of things. She was so darned efficient.”

  Suddenly someone said, “Look!” and pointed upward to the top of one of the towers. Mrs. Mannering stood there, hands on hips, laughing at us. “This is my house,” she shouted down. “If I can’t have it, then nobody can.”

  “Come down here right now,” the inspector shouted back up at her. “You’ll only make things worse for yourself.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m already going to hang,” she shouted back. “Besides I couldn’t come down if I wanted. And you can’t come up. The ground floor is on fire.”

  And we could see that was true. Flames were glowing through the tower windows. We heard the sound of exploding glass and the flames licked up the side of the tower. We stood watching in horrified fascination as they came nearer and nearer to Mrs. Mannering. Suddenly we heard the sound of a motorcar, coming fast up the driveway. It was the Rolls-Royce. Jago jumped out of one door, and Darcy from the other. Both raced toward us. Darcy headed for me while Jago made a beeline for Belinda.

  “Are you all right?” Darcy swept me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could hardly breathe.

  “I’m fine. The housekeeper. She’s set the place on fire. She’s up there.” I pointed at the tower. “No, don’t think of trying to save her.” I held on to him tightly, knowing his tendency to do brave and stupidly heroic things. “The lower floors are on fire.”

  “Belinda, are you all right?” Jago asked. “You shouldn’t have come back here, putting yourself in danger.” Then, to my surprise, as well as Belinda’s, he grabbed her arms, drew her to him and kissed her savagely. I noticed that she was not struggling to get away.

  “Well,” she said, when she could finally breathe. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  “I’ve been wanting to do that from the first moment I saw you,” Jago said.

  “I must say it was a lot better than the last time you kissed me, when I was fourteen.”

  “I have had some practice in the meantime,” Jago said. “Come on. Get in the car. I’m taking you back to Truro where you’ll be safe.”

  “Sorry, Jago, I can’t go with you,” she said.

  “What you need is a man to take care of you. I’m driving you back.”

  “That would be nice, but I’m not leaving Brutus here.”

  “Who is Brutus?”

  “My little sports car.”

  “Georgie and I can drive Brutus for you,” Darcy said. “You go with Jago.”

  “Darcy, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Long story. Some other time. Now you go with Jago and we’ll drive your car for you.”

  “If you insist,” she said.

  “We’re taking these young ladies away from here. It’s not fitting they should see this,” Jago said. “They’ve had enough distressing things happening to them recently. You’ll find them back in Truro if you want a statement from them, Inspector,” Jago said. “Royal Hotel.”

  He took Belinda firmly by the arm and steered her to the Rolls-Royce. “You’re very bossy, aren’t you?” Belinda demanded.

  “When I want to be,” Jago said and bundled her into the front seat.

  Chapter 33

  MONDAY OCTOBER 21, AND THEN TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22

  BACK IN TRURO AND THEN, FINALLY, AT HOME

  Darcy and I didn’t speak at all until we were seated in Brutus and driving away. I kept thinking about Mrs. Mannering up in that tower, waiting for the flames to reach her. I didn’t need to look back but I knew in my heart that she had fallen to her death just like Jonquil. Either way I was glad Darcy had prevented me from seeing that spectacle.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked. “You didn’t do anything stupid this time like trying to apprehend that woman?”

  “No, I didn’t. I merely told the inspector what we had found out and in fact Mrs. Mannering was so taken aback that we knew about Colin she sort of capitulated. She killed Jonquil Trefusis and Tony Summers and poor old Harry.”

  “For revenge?”

  “It’s complicated,” I said. “I’ll tell you later. But weren’t you taking a big risk being seen here?”

  “Absolutely not. Jago had to run an errand and saw the fire engines, then decided to follow them in case we could be of help.”

  “So you’ll be going back there?” I asked.

  “Just for tonight. Mr. Panopolis is chartering a yacht and sailing for ports unknown after this.”

  “I thought you were going to Ireland.”

  “Change of plans. I have to go up to London right away. I might be home with you in a couple of days.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” I said. He reached across and squeezed my hand, then swore under his breath as a farm cart was coming toward us and he had to swerve into the hedge.

  * * *

  BELINDA AND I were left at the hotel in Truro while Darcy took the London train and Jago went back to Trengilly. We settled down for a quiet cup of coffee and a biscuit.

  “Goodness.” Belinda put down her cup. “It seems so long since one has had a meal that isn’t fraught with danger.”

  I agreed. “And we thought this would be a nice little break from boredom,” I said. “At least we were never bored.”

  “Imagine that it was Mrs. Mannering,” Belinda said. “I always felt that she was spooky, didn’t you?”

  “I did. She was just too perfect. There was one other time when I came up against a too perfect servant. And she was also dangerous. So remind me that I never get rid of Queenie. At least she’d only kill me by accident.”

  Belinda smiled. “I suppose living cut off from the world in a dark and gloomy house l
ike that can start to prey on one’s mind. She might have been a bright and hopeful young girl once. Forced into a relationship with her master. Baby taken away from her and she gives all her love and affection to someone who betrayed her.”

  “You were betrayed and had to give up your baby,” I said, “but I haven’t noticed you planning to kill anyone.”

  “No, I’m not the violent sort.” She paused. “I must say I was disappointed to hear that my grandmother refused to help her.”

  “I remember that you were desperate that your grandmother didn’t find out about your own pregnancy,” I reminded her.

  “You’re right. She always was a stickler for correctness, in fact she—” She broke off as we heard raised voices in the reception hall. “I would have to check whether Miss Warburton-Stoke is actually in residence, sir,” the frosty reception clerk was saying.

  “What do you mean, have to check?” said an aggressive male voice. “Either she’s here or she’s not. I’m her father, dammit.”

  Belinda jumped up. “Daddy!” she yelled and rushed toward him.

  “My dear child! Are you all right? I thought I’d find you in a prison cell. Are you out on bail? Don’t worry. We’ll find you the best lawyer. It was self-defense.”

  “Daddy, don’t worry. Someone else has confessed. I’m a free woman. But it was so good of you to come.”

  “Had to leave a dashed good shoot,” he said. “We were out three days stalking such a fine stag, and I had to leave the others to it.”

  “I’m glad to know I’m more important than a stag,” Belinda said.

  “Well, there are other stags but only one daughter,” he confessed. He still had his arm around her. “What an ordeal, but you look splendid. Look, why don’t you come home to us for a while. Let Cook try to fatten you up like she used to.” There was a wistful look on his face. “We haven’t seen anything of you in quite a while.”

  “You know why that is, don’t you?” Belinda said.

  Her father made a face. “I know that you and Sylvia don’t exactly get along.”

  “Get along? Daddy, she made it quite clear from the first moment that she couldn’t stand the sight of me. And she certainly didn’t want to share your affection. The first time she came to the house I heard her saying ‘You are planning to send her away to school, I hope?’

  “And she’s made me feel unwanted ever since.”

  Major Warburton-Stoke coughed awkwardly. “Yes, but now you’re a grown woman with your own life. You’d be a welcome visitor. I’d welcome a visit from you. Why don’t you come?”

  Belinda reached up and stroked his cheek. “It’s sweet of you, Daddy. Maybe a little later, but right now I still have to stay down here. There will be an inquest. We’ll have to testify. And I have to sort out what I want done to my little cottage.”

  “Very well,” he said. “At least let me take you somewhere decent and buy you a slap-up luncheon. And you can tell me all your news.”

  “All right,” Belinda said.

  “I’d better see if this place has a room for me. I don’t fancy another long train journey today. So give me a few minutes, all right?”

  Belinda watched him go, then came over to me. “I should have introduced you but there didn’t seem to be a right moment. Will you come to lunch with us?”

  “I think you two should enjoy some time alone,” I replied. “Who knows, this may signal a new chapter in your relationship.”

  “Not unless he strangles the wicked witch.” She grinned. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing, staying on down here?”

  “It’s all about Jago, isn’t it?”

  She had the grace to blush. “Do you think I’m being silly?”

  “It depends what you have in mind.”

  “I mean, he was so sweet, so concerned about me. He really cares, Georgie. But it can’t work, can it?”

  “He’s not exactly a peasant boy, Belinda. He did go to Oxford. He’s an educated man.”

  “I mean the whole problem with class. Look at poor Rose. Never really accepted. Never felt she belonged. I wonder what she will do now. Do you think she’ll rebuild?”

  “I doubt it,” I said. “She was lonely, even when Tony was alive. I’m sure now that Mrs. Mannering put the doubts into her head that Tony wanted to kill her. That way she’d have a motive for murder. No, I bet she moves back to Bath to be near her mum.” I looked up as a bright idea struck me. “You could buy the property, build the house you want on it.”

  “No thank you. I always felt there was some kind of gloom hanging over that place, didn’t you? Maybe it is cursed. And it’s too remote.”

  “Not as remote as White Sails.”

  “No, that really is a bit much. I don’t think I’m very good at roughing it.”

  “So you don’t want a place down here?”

  Again she blushed. “Jago reckons that his boss’s charmed life is about to end. He thinks the government will take over the property and I’d be able to buy it for a song.”

  “Back where you belong.” I smiled at her excited face. “And where does Jago fit into this scheme?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Small steps, Georgie. I’m not about to make any more mistakes. Jago suggested we might turn Trengilly into a hotel—with all these bathrooms! Have a manager on-site . . .”

  “Jago?”

  “Maybe. But anyway, it’s an exciting prospect, isn’t it?”

  “I’m happy for you,” I said. “Look, there’s your father. You’d better go to lunch.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY I caught the train up to London and then transferred to Waterloo to journey home. I had called my housekeeper to let her know I was coming and to have Phipps pick me up at the station, and I arrived at just about teatime.

  “Welcome home, my lady,” Mrs. Holbrook said. “Would you like your tea served in the drawing room? I’ve had a lovely big fire made up there. It’s certainly nippy out today, isn’t it?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Holbrook,” I said. “I’ll go on through.”

  The fire was blazing away, the room looked comfortable and welcoming. This is my house, I thought. My home. And I felt a great swell of pride and happiness. I had just settled into one of the armchairs when I heard the sound of approaching feet. I looked up, expecting tea, but instead Darcy came into the room.

  “I beat you to it,” he said, beaming at my astonished face. “Welcome home.” He came over and kissed me. “I’m glad to have you back safe and sound.”

  “I’m glad to be back,” I said. “Sit down. Tea is about to be served.”

  “Did Belinda come with you?” he asked.

  “She decided to stay on down there.”

  “Jago, I presume?”

  I nodded. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea or not.”

  “He’s a good chap. Solid. He may be right for her.”

  “I hope so. She deserves some happiness at last,” I said, then looked up as I heard the rattle of the tea trolley. In it came, pushed by Queenie herself. It was laden with every kind of cake and biscuit imaginable: chocolate éclairs, cream puffs, brandy snaps, maids of honor, meringues, a Victoria sponge, a large plum cake, shortbreads, sandwiches and scones.

  “Wotcher, miss. When she told me you were coming home I got busy,” she said.

  “Queenie!” I exclaimed. “When I said enough cakes and pastries I never meant . . . Now you’ve gone too far in the other direction.”

  “Some people are never bloomin’ satisfied,” Queenie said. “I work me fingers to the bone making everything that you like and you’re having a good old moan about it.”

  “I am not having a moan, I promise you,” I said. “It’s just that—how are we going to eat all these before they spoil?”

  “Now we’ve no option. We’ll just have to invite the neighbors to tea,” D
arcy said with a cheeky grin.

  “Oh, very well,” I replied, laughing myself now. “Go on, Queenie. You can pour the tea for us.”

  “Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said.

  About the Author

  Rhys Bowen, a New York Times bestselling author, has been nominated for every major award in mystery writing, including the Edgar®, and has won many, including both the Agatha and Anthony awards. She is also the author of the Molly Murphy Mysteries, set in turn-of-the-century New York, and the Constable Evans Mysteries, set in Wales as well as two internationally bestselling stand alone novels. She was born in England and now divides her time between Northern California and Arizona.

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